


Dark Doo Wop

by zeekubeast



Category: Yogscast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeekubeast/pseuds/zeekubeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another battleground.  One of millions before, one of millions to follow. </p><p>Ridge stands in the center, perfectly motionless, a pinpoint of calm in the vortex of war.</p><p>A warm hand claps him on the back like a lightning strike. He turns, eyes flashing with fire, and sees... a familiar face.</p><p>(A small Vignette featuring Ridgedog and Xephos being sad about immortality.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Doo Wop

It's another battleground.

One of millions before, one of millions to follow.

They each hold their own special form of chaos and suffering, like individual snowflakes comprised of bodies and bloodshed. But like individual snowflakes, they all melt into nothingness eventually.

Ridge stands in the center, perfectly motionless, a pinpoint of calm in the vortex of war.

Ahead of him lies the Stronghold of Israphel, a twisted spire of netherbrick and hellfire that pierces the heavens and taints the ground. It churns, like an enormous drillbit, spitting out earth and stone in whirling chunks like so much sawdust.

To his flanks lie the ruins of Minecraftia. Armies, composed of more dead bodies than living ones, scatter like ants over the pocked and cratered lands. They fight, they bleed, they add to the tally of corpses.

Creatures that would usually prefer to lurk in darkness crawl out of their holes in droves, gnashing and gurgling with rotting throats and clanging their swords with bony hands. For every undead pawn slashed to pieces, a soldier falls and is trampled under the heels of the living dead.

Ridge sees no irony in it. That's just how it is.

Humans die, have died, and will die.

He sees, has seen, and will continue to see them do that for an eternity.

He doesn't care to look behind him. Once you've seen the details of a million battlegrounds, all of them start to look the same.

He lets out a sigh of boredom.

A warm hand claps him on the back like a lightning strike. He turns, eyes flashing with fire, and sees... a familiar face.

"Ridge - thank goodness I found you!" exclaims Xephos.

His traveller's jacket is bloodied and coated in grime. Nothing Ridge hasn't seen before, but he can't help notice it every time. There's a nick in his eyebrow, trickling blood into his eyelashes. War has been kind to him this time, it seems.

"Xephos," he replies, a long practiced smile sliding into place. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

There is a moment, where Xephos looks at him like he's a madman. Just a split second blink of doubt - too brief to catch by most. He still sees it. The corners of his mouth strain to keep the smile.

"I've lost track of Honeydew," the man explains. "Have- have you seen him? Anywhere?"

"I've seen him," He says. "Not recently though."

"Is he alive?" There's that desparate edge in his voice, the slight creak brought by the weight of mortality. Ridge has heard it before - so many times.

He wants to laugh at it, to laugh it off. Who cares if some hapless dwarf is dead or alive this moment in time? He's lived before, he'll live again.

He meets Xephos' gaze, and there's nothing to laugh about in existance. Not with those piercing blue eyes and their slit pupils staring at him.

He closes his eyes and lets the smile drop completely.

"Yes. He's alive right now. I can't say where he is, though."

"Thank you," Xephos exhales in relief. "And I know. You're not allowed to interfere."

Ridge bites his lip.

"Thanks," he says again. He flashes a brave smile at Ridgedog for a moment.

Ridge inhales sharply.

"Can I ask you something?"

Xephos mops his brow and replies, "Sure. But - could you keep it short?"

He stares at him impassively, lips pursed.

"I still need to find Honeydew," he explains sheepishly.

Right. Well, there wasn't any point in beating around the bush, regardless. Ridge rolls onto the balls of his feet and looks the spaceman right in the eye.

"Why do you keep fighting?"

"What?" Xephos shakes his head, indignant. " _Why?_ There's people's lives - the whole _world_ is at stake here! Peculier – Daisy- And my best friend, for pete's sake! I have to."

"You don't, though." Ridge murmurs. He frowns and steps closer. "Xephos..."

He reaches out and places the palm of his hand against his cheek. A surge flows through, the thrum of universal energy lighting up Xephos' eyes like those of a jack-o-lantern.

He reels back under Ridge's touch, as the memories and sensations of a hundred lives all quarrel for his attention. He sees Ridge, duplicated, multiplied and overlayed, each minute movement lingering as a still frame that fades into the next one.

He remembers - but. Not his own memories. Memories of his memories.

He sees himself, as if in a dream, looking from the outside.

He sees himself: stabbed, crushed, broken.

Dead.

He sees through golden eyes, every point in this universe, every particle strung together with the infintessimally fine threads, and himself, the interloper, at the center. The voice of god floods his mind, soft as a whisper and deafening as cannonfire.

"You've died before. You've died plenty of times. And god knows - _I know_ \- you're going to die again."

Xephos stumbles backwards, breaking the spell. The after-images of infinity still flash on the inside of his eyelids.

"Wh... What?" He pants. "Ridge - I.."

Ridge faces him, but his gaze is turned inward, his mouth a small, hard line.

"What are you trying to tell me...?" He says.

"I'm asking, why do you fight?" Ridge bursts out, breath caught in his throat. "Why bother? You know the inevitable will come. Why...why make it painful?"

"Ridge..," now Xephos is the one who draws closer. Ridgedog’s shoulders tremble, hands balled into fists, hidden behind the brocade of his sleeves. Xephos touches his arm to comfort, but the thin veneer of calm shatters like glass.

"You die - you always die!" He shouts breathlessly.  "And you always come back!"

"I know," Xephos murmurs gently. He looks at him with softened eyes. The hand remains steady on his arm. "I always do... And you're always there to greet me."

"But you always, every time, insist on dying a hero!" Ridge jabs an accusatory finger at his chest. It feels like a blow. " _Why?_ Tell me why you can't just be an ordinary coward."

"Because...It's not who I am."

Ridgedog scoffs bitterly.

 "Would it kill you to be less noble?” He sneers. “Oh wait, no, it wouldn't. Because being noble has already killed you a hundred times over!"

"Ridge, I can't just give up..," Xephos pleads. "We- ...we can't just let the evil win."

"You can't win this round," He says coldly.

"I can at least try -"

"No. You can't."

Ridge's words cut through the air like steel. He steps back, retreating from the contact to gaze out at the battlefield once more. Xephos follows his gaze, and suddenly notices how quiet it became.

The world around them has stopped, frozen, focused. Fires shine and plumes of smoke reach for the sky, but no breeze causes them to flicker or billow. Only the hem of Ridge’s coat ripples in the eddying current that surrounded him at all times. Xephos stands, rooted to the spot, eyes fixed on the back of Ridge’s head.

"You can't win this time.” He says with careful deliberation. “I made sure of that."

Ridge draws in a shuddering breath.

"I interfered.” He confesses. “I gave Israphel power. I slowed you down.” His breath catches on a lump in his throat, choking him to a whisper.

“ _I_ made sure that _you_ would _lose_."

A deep sigh releases itself, easing the strange obstruction from his throat. He lowers his head, murmuring.

"... This world will be burned to no more than a lump of charcoal by the time it comes to The End."

"Why would you do that?" Xephos asks, finally finding his own voice.

"Because –“ Ridge turns to face him again, eyes bright and wet. “I thought...” The words die upon his lips. He shakes his head, blinking hard.

 “I thought if I made it impossible for you to win..,” He looks at Xephos and smiles as though his heart would break. “Then you wouldn't play along this time."

"But I was wrong," He chuckles, shaking his head at the ground. "I always seem to be wrong when it comes to you. I'm bad at guessing when I can't see through the cards."

Xephos staggers forwards slightly. He wants to say so many things. His mind races, trying to find which one is right, which one is even appropriate for this situation, but he can’t. He can’t think of anything.

Instead, he reaches his arms around Ridge, and hugs him. Tightly.

"I just wanted to see you grow old this time. Linger on a little longer,” Ridge says wistfully, letting himself be pulled into the embrace. “I always have to wait so _long_ for you to come back..."

He buries his face against Xephos’ steady shoulder and lets out a small, dry sob.

"I _miss you_ when you die."

Xephos lifts a hand, letting calloused fingertips brush over a dry, freckled cheek. Ridge inhales sharply, tilting his face into the touch. Xephos strokes gently over his cheekbone and cards his fingers through Ridge's hair.

He smiles a soft, apologetic smile, and kisses him.

"I'll try to stay alive longer this time," he murmurs. "I promise."

"No you won't," Ridge says childishly, clinging to him.

"Yes, I will." Xephos kisses him again, this time shorter. "I swear to my god."

Ridge sighs and pulls Xephos back into the kiss. They meld together, filled with the desperate passion of time running out. Ridge loses himself in the feeling. Xephos is soft and mortal, no stronger than any ordinary man. His breath is bittersweet against Ridge’s lips. He can feel his heart, beating beneath the thin layer of muscle and bone.

The spaceman is fragile, like any living thing, transient in the eyes of an immortal god. However, unlike anything else in the whole of the world, Ridge cannot break him. He cannot erase him. Cannot hold him in his arms and mould him from the clay of reality into something different. He remains, a constant.

Just like Ridge.

 He kisses him, as he has for centuries. Never once has he grown bored of it. There’s something so solid, so tangible in his ageless face. He is the closest thing that Ridge has ever had to an equal.

They hold each other, hands clutching on to clothes like dying men. If only he could cease, for one moment. Lay down his immortal life to live one short, mortal span beside his friend. No more waiting for eons as the earth dies and forges anew, waiting for his companion to rejoin. If only he could hold him, and keep him to himself.

They kiss each other breathless, until Ridge finally breaks away. The last grains of borrowed time trickle from his grasp.

Xephos stumbles – and suddenly the sounds of war break through their bubble of silence. The world resumes, as if no time had passed at all. Fires roar and thunder rolls in the distance, punctuated by the screams of battle. He remembers again: where he is, what’s at stake, what needs to be done.

“Don’t forget,” Ridge says to him quietly, smoothing his hands over the ragged lapels of his coat. “You promised.”

Xephos nods.

Ridge watches him leave, until he loses sight of him in the billowing smoke. He steps into the air, letting himself float upwards until the whole battlefield is laid out before his feet. With a sigh, he closes his eyes.

It’s fine. He can wait.

At least, for only a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, goes to ZawehZaweh for being a great beta and motivator.  
> Reccomended listening (and namesake): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N0yFi_EXAC8


End file.
